


Unholy Jack

by Azmodel



Series: Unholy Players [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M, Mild Smut, Serial Killer John, Serial Killer Sherlock, homicidal John, murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1769833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azmodel/pseuds/Azmodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When best friends happen to be serial killers sparks fly, or blood. But in this case, not their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unholy Jack

**Author's Note:**

> Time to get to Sherlock and John having fun together. Only a conclusion left after this part, if anyone wants to know...

Unholy Jack

  They were running down a dark alley in pursuit of a shady character, nothing out of the usual so far. Typical thursday night for those men.This time it was a loan shark with a penchant for violent means of retrieving his money or getting paid in nature, either women or organs were fine as a payment method for the latter when one wasn’t fit for the former. Dabbling in blackmail on occasion if the person borrowing money had interesting contacts. And that’s this part of his business that had a woman hire Sherlock to recover her fiancé’s file. Pretty straightforward and less risky than most of the mysteries interesting the private eye.

 The detective had only considered this case to be a three, but he was bored out of his mind. He had thought it was a good opportunity to get more data on breaking in methods. But yes, mostly because the last month had been depressingly devoid of anything interesting. One would believe the criminals were out to drive him out of his mind. Of course the blackmailer didn’t keep his files in his office, he was much too paranoid for that, and the quirk had been reassuring for the blogger as it should eliminate the possibility of a security team. Which is why they had discreetly trailed him to a decrepit storage unit. Once there the mad genius had wanted to catch the villain in the act and stepped up to the loan-shark to show off. Because the was no other way to say it, it was plain gloating. The bloke had taken a lot of precautions for the place not to be linked to him, going as far as wearing gloves so no fingerprints were left if the container was found, and Sherlock grudgingly admitted the police would have been stumped. But it had not been enough to fool the sleuth and he was going to describe why in detail just to bring him down a notch.

  John couldn’t stand the arrogant bastard lending money only to people he knew wouldn’t be able to afford paying the loan back, nevermind the scandalous interests rates : it was the perfect cover for his very profitable human traffic venture. The doctor had seen his fair share of those parasites feeding on despair back in Afghanistan, he wouldn’t take one of those thriving in his own city lying down. And he knew his flatmate would do the same since the homeless were often victims when borrowers became rare. The dick couldn’t afford being short on supplies, and it took a lot of “volunteers” since they didn’t kill the donors. Hearts were worth their weight in gold but the corpses could be found no matter how well hidden. Plus if too many of his clients were to disappear never to be seen again it would be bad for business. That’s why when the rascal went and dared attack the tall raven to try and get past them the ex-soldier saw red and ran after him.

  Ten minutes later the tenants of 221B cornered the man in a dead end, and in desperation he started offering them women and money if they would just let him go. Promising they would never hear from him again. The genius didn’t need to point out that, yes, leaving for the Canarios would take him off their radar but his despicable venture would be run by one of his goons instead. By then both partners wore such expressions of disgust the criminal knew they wouldn’t take him on his offer and got a folding knife out one of his pockets to slash wildly at the taller of the two, figuring him to be the more dangerous. Assumption that was immediately proven wrong as the compact figure of Captain Watson hit him. Violently.

  With a hard twist to the wrist holding the weapon a crack could be heard, the item clanking on the ground a second or so after a grunt of pain left the struggling man. Once unarmed John let go of the piece of trash to calmly grab the blade. He might not know it yet but trying to hurt Sherlock had signed his death warrant.

  As if hypnotised the consulting detective was watching his friend circle around the brute, all the while invectiving him ; telling him how repulsed he was by junk of his ilk. When the predator turned prey tried to flee again the soldier was ready for him and cut at his calf to send him back to the tarmac.

  The blond tensed when he felt someone press against his back, he had forgotten about the tall drink of water, so used to his presence by his side he had discounted it.

 

“- John….

\- I know, time to call Lestrade.

\- Nop~e. Don’t be an idiot. I was thinking that this one needs proper punishment.

\- … What kind?

\- I’m sure you remember how you took care of that awful cabbie.”

 

 Stunned, the doctor tried processing what the man he had been sharing a flat with for the last six months was implying. Surely not what it sounded like…? Because there was no way…?

  At the same time the younger Holmes was remembering his own very first kill, both situations being so similar it seemed fitting for what he had in mind. Since finding out his blogger was a serial killer a couple of months back he had been wondering how it would feel to watch the other man take a life. Would it be as satisfying as doing it himself?

 

* * *

  The consulting detective had been taken aback by his own deductions when he learned that one of “three continents Watson”’s girlfriends didn’t come back after her first visit at their flat. Sure, it was what usually happened after they met him but that one was spared as he was quite busy with an experiment at the time. The blogger had seducing women down to an art form, and Sherlock was quite sure a few men as well when females were unavailable. (Afghanistan certainly been a place where flirts were not tolerated, both in the local population and the army). Only putting his flatmate before them could put a premature stop to his courting. So he was left speechless when he inquired of when she would intrude on their case-solving time and was casually told that she had died of an unfortunate health condition.

  Now, learning of the girlfriend’s death did not phase him in the least. Not at all. He was even happy this one he wouldn’t have to chase away. That was so dull. What floored him was the complete lack of emotions coming with the announcement. Aside from maybe a tiny bit of satisfaction. Probing to get further data the sleuth wondered aloud that it didn’t seem to bother him too much. Being a sociopath permitted him to be tactless when he wanted to be, one of the reasons he stuck to the diagnosis. All the answer he got was a shrug and the statement that he hadn’t known her well and things like that sometimes happened.

 

  Sherlock couldn’t believe it! A serial killer! A serial killer living under his roof! It was Christmas!

 

  Of course he had known that Jefferson Hope had not been the first time the ex-army man had taken a life, he’d had ‘bad days’ of his own confession. At the time he had thought he referred to his time in the military but now the sentence took a whole new meaning : it was obvious by the complete lack of guilt in his voice when saying that the woman he was dating had died. As a doctor he should have regretted not being able to see it soon enough or not saving her. His caring personality should have made him feel for her friends and family since he made Sherlock be tactful to complete strangers if they were in pain.He hadn’t even gone to the burial. The relaxation his blogger had demonstrated suddenly near the end of last week was understandable in retrospect.And he had wondered what the blond had done to get rid of it after almost a month of being high-strung!

  But he wasn’t about to to turn his flatmate in to the police, for one it was pretty clear the force had no idea a murderer was on the loose. Not even a rumor had reached him. So John was very clever in disguising it as something else, he’d mentioned  a “medical condition” ? Brilliant. Well, maybe no one spoke of those murders because the killer disappeared for a few years.Unlikely, Lestrade would have brought it as a cold case, he knew of Sherlock’s penchant for serial murders. Definitely not suspected then. And then there was the fact that he was already much too attached to his friend and wouldn’t give up his conductor of light.

 

* * *

  Seeing as his flatmate needed one more small push now that he was aware of the genius’s presence again - hard not to when he was almost glued to his back- he whispered in his ear :

“- Please, I know you want to do it.

\- How did you--

\- The girlfriend. Obvious, John.

\- Obvious?!

\- Yes, do keep up.

\- And you didn’t say anything?

\- Of course not. What would  I do without my blogger?

\- Right. Of bloody course.

\- But I really would enjoy it as well. We’ve got that in common.”

 

  Eyes widening in realisation, the blond man turned a bit to better see his friend’s face while keeping the other man in sight. The shock had almost made him let go of the knife.

  It was slowly dawning on the loan-shark just how dangerous the two men were and that the discussion was about killing him. His nerves got the better of him and he started insulting them copiously, shouting how insane they were in spite of considering him a rotten bastard. As if he had some kind of high moral ground because he doesn’t kill his victims, merely force them to a life of misery.When the hated “freak” was howled things got messy.

  Sherlock flinched and the soldier’s fury ignited, lunging at the sick fuck hurting his brilliant flatmate. No. One. Was allowed to abuse him, physically or otherwise.

  He took great care to cover the body in painful cuts before plunging the blade in the horrified bastard’s heart. Still in a state of trance from the adrenaline flooding his veins the blond let himself be directed by his accomplice away from the crime scene. The way back to Baker Street was a blur ; John wasn’t usually so shaken but Sherlock had been there, he’d had watched him kill and had seemed to enjoy it. And he was a serial killer as well…! It was a lot to take in at once.

  Truth was the detective had more than just “enjoyed” the kill. Judging by the stirring of some usually very tame parts of his anatomy it was becoming urgent for him to rethink his stance on sex and relationships. The two in relation to one specific flatmate of his.

  

  The tall, curly haired man was hanging their coats by the door of their home when the good doctor came back to himself enough to be coherent.

“- What about--

\- No need to worry. Only our client knows about our interest in the man, we’ll give her the file and never hear from her again. And when they find him the police will only assume it’s the result of an altercations between rivals ; with his range of business that one wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. The Yard isn’t that incompetent so I doubt they’ll want to investigate much. And the knife unfortunately slipped down the underground sewers.

\- Mycroft--

\- Won’t be a problem. Not much CCTV in the area.”

 

  The brilliant smile on the genius’ face, his dilated pupils and his panting combined with the relief the soldier was feeling overwhelmed him and he did something he didn’t even know he wanted : catching the other man by the lapels he pushed him against the door and endeavoured to snog the hell out of him. It took only a half second before the detective reciprocated, a finger hooking in a belt hoop to pull him closer and a long fingered hand burrowing in sandy hair.

  After a good quarter of an hour John gently pushed off, smiling broadly and offered to order takeaway. The sleuth could only agree since he was actually hungry, for once. Must be a side effect of unusual dopamine and adrenaline levels.

 

* * *

  Things didn’t change much for a while, aside from some spontaneous bouts of kissing sometimes happened in the safety of their flat, but both men were wary of PDAs. They were quite sure some bets were running about their relationship at NSY and they didn’t want to make anyone be right. Call it childish, but it was fun to keep the idiots guessing. Both were fine with not going further than first base, there was no hurry after all, and their lives were hectic enough to often keep them away from bed. Well, John mostly as Sherlock only seemed to sleep when the doctor was at the surgery. So bloody unfair.

  And they had seldom been able to share their respective experiences in killing as they weren’t sure the flat wasn’t bugged. The genius did a weekly sweep but better safe than sorry. Damn a certain Holmes and his Big Brother complex. So all delicate conversation were held at night on the way back from dinner at Angelo’s.

 

 Christmas was around the corner and Mrs Hudson’s tenants convinced themselves to join their respective families for the holidays. Mycroft had made a right nuisance of himself, popping around twice a week at least until his little brother had relented and agreed to go visit his parents, grumbling all the way. It was a bit endearing to see the lanky man behave like a petulant child but the blogger tried not to let it show. Mrs H would be off at her sister’s in the country for a week, so John had opted on accepting Harry’s invite, even if he was pretty sure it wouldn’t go well. Between his sister and and their mother it was going to be a blowout.

 

* * *

  Four interminable days later, the doctor was still boiling with rage as he stepped into 221B. A good thing the landlady was still away, she wouldn’t have approved of the vicious door slamming. His flatmate wasn’t back either and that was fine because he would probably rudely deduce him and make him blow a fuse.

  After letting his bag fall next to the sofa the blond paced around the living room for a good while. Since it wasn’t helping his mood any he decided to use his aggressivity wisely and do some cleaning, thank God for his genius’ messiness, there was always cleaning to do on hand when needed. His smoke and alcohol imbibed clothes went into the washing machine, then he chose the kitchen as his next victim. While scrubbing wasn’t an activity he usually volunteered for at the moment he really needed the temporary mind-blank it generated. Surprising how scrubbing took a lot of brain power. It was either that or do something stupid. Stupid as in go out and slaughter the first person he could grab.

  Sherlock really had an impeccable timing : he came in just as his blogger planned his attack on the experiments scattered on the kitchen table. They had probably wasted away after being left alone for a few days anyway… Why not brave the health hazard? Just as expected a look was all it took him to assess the ex-surgeon and the shiny kitchen. But he didn’t do anything to worsen the harassed looking medic.

“- Worse than expected?”

  A half-annoyed half-amused huff escaped the smaller man.

“- Can’t you deduce it?

\- I could, but you look like you need to let it out.”

  John was really, really grateful for the care hidden behind the simple sentence and tempted to accept his friend’s offer, but he was quite sure he wouldn’t be able to stop ranting for a long while. The hyperactive man would probably get bored long before he was done.

  Harry had been blind drunk for the better part of his stay, making the most of the “festive spirit” that her dear brother seemed to lack entirely. She was feeling sorry for herself as it was the first Christmas since the divorce. When their mother arrived she didn’t waste time to remind “Harriet” of how their father had found his death at the bottom of a bottle. Quite literally as he had been stabbed with a broken beer glass during a pub fight; but the cirrhosis would have taken him sooner or later anyway. And in the same breath as she was berating her daughter, using her given name just for extra effect, she slipped a smoke between her lip and lit it. Because, of course!, chain smoking wasn’t bad for the health… Nope, no sir.

  The first couple of days John had mostly avoided taking either woman’s side and thought forlornly of his stroppy madman. Everyone wondered how he could put up with him but Sherlock really wasn’t that bad compared to his family. And as expected once they run out of reproaches to throw each other they had turned on him. Whoever said staying neutral would avoid problems?

  When was he going to settle down and marry? Still a bachelor at his age! It was high time he gave his mother grand-children, since Harry certainly wouldn’t. And when would he find a better job? With his experience and qualifications he shouldn’t keep doing locum work. Such a waste! Of course it was all because of that insane flatmate of his, dragging him on his cases, and monopolising so much of his time he never spent any with both women anymore… At least they agreed on something, he thought bitterly. It kept going on, and on, and on.

  Really, it would have been better to stay alone at Baker Street even if spending the celebrations on one’s own was quite pitiful. So, running out of patience and before he could do something he would regret -namely ending up in jail for maiming the remnants of his family- he pretexted his infamous friend needing him for a case and escaped. Even if they would be harping at him about for the foreseeable future if was worth it. A scof was all he let escape him when he realised neither had noticed he never got a call or a text to summon him.His… boyfriend?... was rubbing on him.  

  Now he was back where he belonged but his frustration was hard to get rid of. Maybe is the sleuth was in the mood he would properly play his violin… The wonderful music always relaxed the soldier.

“- I got a present for you John.”

  That got the doctor’s attention right away : the Holmes did not take part in something as pedestrian as exchanging gifts for Christmas.

“-Really?

\- Yes. Well, that’s why I came back late, I had to secure it before getting you.”

  The raven gave the blond his phone which was displaying a photo : an unconscious man was lying on a nondescript ground, bound hand and foot with a blood red ribbon. Not understanding the ex-soldier looked askance at his significant other.

“- I could easily guess the holidays with your dear family would put a strain on you so I selectionned something special for the occasion : this one will not be missed by anyone. Well, no more than he already is ; a decade or so ago he disappeared with all his mother’s savings to drink himself stupid. And has kept doing the same to all the women he has been in a relationship with since. He sometimes work but it’s nothing anywhere close to respectable either.

\- Not a very nice bloke then?

\- Not really, no.”

  John blinked owlishly for a second before tackling the detective to the ground and very enthusiastically kissing the daylights out of him. When he finally released the other man it was only to ask :

“- What are we waiting for?”

 

* * *

  They took a taxi to the abandoned docks in Newham, before Sherlock lead him on a wild chase over the rooftops to avoid all CCTV until they reached a building set for demolition the next day. And wasn’t that brilliant that all proof of their crime would be blown up right before the New Year, the icing on the cake for this wonderful gift.

  They slipped in and the doctor got to unwrap his gift. After all part of the fun was subduing the victim, the hunt stimulating adrenaline release. As he went he came across a slim and heavy box delicately wrapped, and when he opened it he found one of the most elegant hunting [ knives ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1UjoZb1k1q-MFNUNUdtdE5UUUU/edit?usp=sharing) he had ever seen : entirely made of the best steel, and most likely having been handmade to follow the genius’ requirements, a razor sharp cutting edge of almost twenty centimeters. The metal of the blade stretched into a curling line to form the handle with a thin dark brown leather cord twining around it to give a better grip. A true work of art, Sherlock obviously spared no expense for this gift. He had put a lot of thoughts into the design as well. The former surgeon was still gazing adoringly at the weapon when the test subject for it started to stir.

 

  Now the fun could begin.

 

  John was crouched a couple of paces in front of the bloke, loosely holding the knife, and Sherlock a bit farther back was watching with an unholy glee. It was time for him to see if the reaction to seeing the good doctor kill with such viciousness was an effect of surprise and novelty or if it was going to be recurrent. Blood and an experiment, what more to ask for?

  First they played with their prisoner more on a psychological level, letting the swindler try to bargain his way out of his situation. It was starting to look like all the villainous ones were very attached to their despicable lives and ready to do anything to save themselves. Something the curly haired man would have to look into later. But a time came when the moron finally realised they were just toying with him he tried to use force to get out which is when the brand new blade came into action. The blond took his time leaving cuts that would be painful but not life threatening, not immediately at least, on the desperate prey. After an hour or so of torture the soldier’s frustration waned and he put an end to the blood covered lowlife’s suffering by cutting open his jugular. It was amazing how fast what little ferrous fluid left in the body emptied itself on the ground.

  All the way through the process the sleuth felt himself stir. Not a one time thing, then. He liked killing himself but his friend was magnificent when giving into his more predator instincts. If the stocky man usually wasn’t very graceful it changed as he went on the prowl, dancing around his toy, quick as a snake to cut flesh and spill crimson rivers. The so very tidy military man turned out to be a surprisingly messy killer, which was a delightful discovery : Sherlock would never again lack data on hemoglobin splatters. So much gore, but he noticed that no clue was left of the perpetrator aside from the lacerations. And the obvious pleasure on the blogger’s face was communicative ; the raven just couldn’t wait to get his hands on the doctor to show his appreciation.It was new, this need to touch, grab and fondle the firm body of a person he was attracted to.

  So, after a very pleasurable kissing session where only their lips and tongues came in contact (the tall drink of water couldn’t get stains on his clothes, the Belfast had to be kept safe), John changed into his spares and they headed home. The taxi ride saw both men high on adrenaline and make montruous efforts not to dissolve into a mass of desire threatening public impropriety. They didn’t want to have to walk all the way back, it would take much too long. And the ex army man could do without another ASBO.

 

* * *

  What little control they had left flew out the window as they stumbled through the door of 221 Baker Street. A good thing Mrs Hudson wasn’t in, chances were she would have gotten an eyeful of her boys devouring each other in the entrance hall. Even if she probably wouldn’t have been as bothered as expected. By now Sherlock was unbearably aroused and had taken the resolution to run a new try on sex : it was plain John was an exception to all his carefully set rules and this should be no different. Not that he minded, to be honest it was refreshing to be shown that not all humans were as boring as each other.

  His decision made he took his soon-to-be lover by the hand and dragged him to his room. It was much closer than the doctor’s and he could barely wait as it was. It took no consulting detective to deduce as much since their clothes were shed as if by magic (how else had could they have gotten them off so fast?) leaving a trail on the stairs, across the living room, that ended abruptly  in the middle of the kitchen with a pair of undergarments abandoned on the floor.

  John would have started to think of the mechanic of what they were about to do but his flatmate seemed to have things well in hand -no pun intended- and thus he was thoroughly distracted, doing as usual : following the genius’ lead. The talented surgeon’s hands were busy exploring all the skin they could reach and the kisses only stopped when oxygen became absolutely necessary.

  Sherlock was far from passive : he was cataloguing all the scars he encountered on the blemished skin of an ex-soldier (deducing how they came to be would have to wait, he was busy), looking for the places that would make his blogger moan when caressed. He was quite pleased with the rigid and smooth length of the erect penis he was stroking languorously, nestled in pubes just a shade darker than the sandy hair on his lover’s head. So far the experience was a vast improvement from his previous data on intercourse. He let out a surprised mewl when his arse got kneaded and a dexterous digit moved south to start teasing at his entrance. Was that how John wanted things to go? While the sleuth didn’t particularly care who was going to top since he had every intention to test the other way around another time, the doctor would have to win the dominant position. The younger man tried to push the blond onto the bed, only to be grabbed and dragged down as well.

Not one to easily surrender he tried to pin the blogger’s hands above his head but the other hadn’t made it to Captain for no reason : with a flex of his hips he reversed the situation, getting the raven’s arms stuck under the small of his back as he flipped him. The detective’s planning of how to get out of the restraining but not painful hold quickly came to a halt as delicious lips let out a possessive “Mine!” in between nibbling bites to the elegant neck. Hands pinned his hips down as that evil mouth traced a path along the sinewy muscles of Sherlock’s chest, only to end up sucking on his cock. If he had been coherent the genius would have realised he was no longer immobilised, but now he was just happy to stay where he was.

  John was overjoyed to feel his partner squirm under his ministrations and compose a symphony of pleasured groans and whines. A good thing he had surreptitiously grabbed the hand cream laying in the kitchen counter : he wouldn’t have been able to let go of the warm body under his and go get it. No way in Hell. Now that the Holmes was so far from his usual impassive self and distracted he could start preparing him.

One finger went in first, circling around the tight ring of muscle before dipping back in, eliciting even more wails from the tall man. Never stopping with the blowjob the doctor got another digit in, using his medical knowledge to find the prostate, and couldn’t stop the loud moan rising up his throat at the sensation of Sherlock’s insides clamping around his fingers. At this rate neither man would hold long enough to get to the main part. He decided to waste no more time in teasing the little bundle of nerves and concentrated on adding the annular in and finish the preparation as fast as possible. He was bordering on desperate, yes, but refused to take the risk of hurting his lover.

  The dick left his mouth with a moist pop and he climbed back up the corded torso to snog the detective some more. When Sherlock tried to rub their pelvises together to get some stimulation back where he wanted it the doctor freed his arms and encouraged him to turn over. Quickly getting the idea the raven eagerly got on his hands and knees, a shiver of anticipation running down his spine.

The doctor was glad they didn’t need condoms (thank goodness they had themselves tested when they became a “couple”) and liberally lathed his shaft before carefully slinking into the offered arse. Despite the adrenaline and other endorphins running rampant in his blood and an almost unbearable level of arousal the blond kept a slow pace until he was seated all the way inside, then stayed still while the man under him got used to the full feeling.

  And, God, was he tight! The doctor himself needed the time to get a hold of himself or he would spill as soon as he moved : the knowledge of being one with the man he adored and the incredible slick heat surrounding his member… It was nearly too much. Fortunately it didn’t take long before he felt a minute relaxation of the vice grip around his sex and started a controlled movement of back and forth that quickly escalated into a wild pounding, in sync with the genius’ more and more vocal appreciation. As John could feel the muscles surrounding his penis start to contract rhythmically he knew his lover was close and reached around an angular hip -that would be bruised tomorrow by the looks of it- for the cock rigidly lifted against tense abdominal muscles, starting to stroke it in time with his thrusts. Barely two minutes later Sherlock came with a shout of John’s name, the obedient soldier following him over the edge as his vision whitened and he could only hear the sound of his own heartbeat for a moment.

 

  The blond made them fall to their sides after pulling out, still holding the other man tightly in his arms as they basked in the afterglow. A moment later the slim body turned to face his now quite official boyfriend. He mentally crinkled his nose at the childish sounding term, but lover was too superficial. John Watson was his perfect match in everything but he couldn’t say that all the time. And the people around them didn’t need to know that much. Aside from the dear occupant of 221A of course. Now seemed like the ideal time for something he had come to dread during his initial data gathering : pillow talk.

“- Well, my previous experiences were nothing like this. We’ll have to do it again.

\- For the data, of course.

\- Obviously, why else?”

  The doctor started giggling at the raised eyebrow and teasing glint in marvellous slate eyes, unable to stop himself, and went on to lovingly kiss Sherlock. He was perfectly happy at the moment, snuggled against a warm body. It seemed the raven wasn’t opposed to cuddling and he wasn’t about to let such opportunity pass. Who knew if it would happen again? It was the cherry on top of everything else that happened during the evening. With a long sigh he got ready to fall asleep.

“- Best Christmas present ever.Thank you.

\- You’re welcome, but I can’t say it was intended for you only.”

 

* * *

 Things didn’t change this time either : Mrs Hudson’s boys kept chasing suspects all over London, helped Scotland Yard when the cases where interesting enough, and took to killing together as one or the other needed it. And with sex involved Sherlock found himself bored much less often, which was an unexpected but not unwelcome. John for his part was always happy to oblige so they had managed to test quite a lovely range of positions and a few kinks.

  Sometimes, just for the fun of watching NSI flounder they left one of their victims laying about to be found. They certainly didn’t want to be caught, but it was a great pleasure to get hearsay of how the forensics got the clues wrong, how the prideful DIs in charge -thankfully not Lestrade, that would have been a problem- never looked farther than the reports and profiles they were given by the so called experts.

  The lovely landlady could never understand what was so amusing about this “New Jack the Ripper” the papers were talking about : when she asked the Consulting Detective why he wasn’t interested he just chuckled that the police had the case well in control and that he couldn’t go in unless called anyway. No need to worry at all dear Mrs Hudson! After all that man, how did the profile put it? Ah, yes : mid-fifties, inferiority complex, office worker. That serial murderer would probably get caught soon. And her boys kept snickering.

**Author's Note:**

> Here are links for the references I used for John's knife :[Knife pendant](http://www.mehr-als-werkzeug.de/product/719707/Knife-Pendant-with-Leather-Sheath.htm) and [Hunting Knife](http://www.mehr-als-werkzeug.de/product/719215/Hunting-Knife.htm)


End file.
